Over Our Heads
by incrediduck
Summary: Stiles's, Allison's, and Scott's last thoughts.
1. In Mud and Water and the Bathtub of Doom

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. If I did, I would hopefully be typing this in my vacation home in Prague.

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Stiles eyes what he's secretly nicknamed The Bathtub of Doom and all he can think of is how he was going to go out in a blaze of glory. He was supposed to die sword in hand, plunging his trusty horse straight into the midst of battle, or maybe shot in defending the woman he loved. At the _very _least horribly mauled by the alpha pack, protecting his friends and family.

But no. Fate's struck again, and Stiles Stilinski is going to die in a tub that really should be used for bobbing apples instead of drowning him.

And damn, is that hunk of tin _cold_, he thinks as he grabs the freezing rim, the other hand unconsciously rubbing his dad's sheriff badge. Even though Stiles knows the badge is just a hunk of cheap metal, it's still lending his muscles strength and his heart courage.

This isn't the first time he's felt pins and needles from icy cold water.

When he was eight and just beginning to really get into Star Wars and Lydia Martin, they were learning about the_ Titanic_. Their teacher, Mr. Kepler**—**weird old bat**—**made him stick his hand into a bucket of ice water, before announcing the fact**—**all the while breathing his coffee breath into Stiles's face**—**that any survivors in the water would have been dead within twenty minutes.

When he steps in the tub, Stiles thinks that he can break this record, hands down, no questions asked.

Taking a morbid sort of comfort in this fact (and maybe just the slightest bit of _hell yeah look who's right now, Mr. Kepler) _along with the more important knowledge that _woah holy shit Lydia's my emotional tether, this counts for some sort of relationship, right? _ he tries to slow his breathing into something that wouldn't be mistaken for a rabbit, and tries to act like it doesn't feel like he was just punched in the gut.

_This has to work. _

_It will work. _

He exchanges a sideways glance with Allison and Scott. The two of them look like warriors**—**chins up, jaws set, shoulders back, determination like stone weighing in their eyes**—**_the same determination that will drag them down and drown them, the same determination that is attached to their ankle with a ball and chain, binding them here, never to become anyone else, always looking over their shoulder-_

_No._

He made his choice a long time ago, when Scott was first bitten and he didn't run screaming for the hills.

Not that he would even if Scott was something gross, like a slobbery slugwere, because _yikes_, but he and Scott were in this to the end. There were already too many memories, too many early morning carpools, and way too many pizzas for him to squeak out now.

Stiles would always be there for him, and that was another fact and promise he would carry to the grave.

Speaking of Scott**—**"If I don't make it out of this, just to let you know, your dad's in town."

He ignores the shock on his brother's face and turns around _im sorry im sorry i only wanted to protect you from more hurt, i only wanted to protect everyone i care about_ and then he can no longer feel the muscles in his face and his heart feels like it's going to explode it's thumping so loud and fighting so desperately and now it's trying to crawl up his throat, _is it really only trying to explode now, why didn't it do that earlier-_

Everything is coming back now, of all the times he couldn't defend and _why can't i be anyone else they would be better off without me why why why _and all he can see and hear and breath and taste is mud.

_Once upon a time, there was a boy who tried to run with the wolves, but fell behind with cut-up knees and dirt in his mouth. It turned to mud and tasted like failure so he always spat it out. But he is tired and he has tried, _oh_ how he's tried, has come up with so many plan B's and thrown himself into the lion's den so many times and it's never enough. _

_But this time, he will not fail. _

The badge is slipping from his grasp.

_He will get his dad back, and Allison and Scott and Melissa and Chris Argent and everybody else will be ok, and his dad will actually eat salads without complaining and throwing it out the window, and he will invite everyone over for a big movie night, and the days will be long and full of stupid games and stupid pranks and smiles. _

Yes.

_Don't worry Dad. I'll get you back. _

He picks up his sword and plunges into battle, and the mud and failure in his mouth is washed away with the tang of water and blood.

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Angst fest! I really wanted to try to bring out what Stiles may have been thinking when he went under. Unfortunately, I may have went slightly overboard with the heavy metal emotions, so if anyone thinks this is too AU, drop me a review. This is my first story anyways, so I'd love to hear whatever! I may continue with Allison and Scott's feelings, too, idk yet :)


	2. Arrows and Pints of Ice Cream

_I would kill for a pair of fuzzy socks right about now_, Allison thinks as she prepares herself to step into the tub. _Or at least some bubbles in this bath. Definitely make my death ten times more fun. _

She notes the mint green leaves in the tin can, and wonders if that's Deaton's way of saying "Oh, you may not have color-changing water, or even the ability to breathe in a few minutes, but I put in some decorative leaves to liven things up."

She appreciates the gesture.

When she dips a testing toe into the unforgiving waters, (_Shi-ite that's fucking glacial, _she silently yells) she tries to contain her gasp, for the sake of herself and her friends.

_Remember the lessons. Pain is only temporary. Focus on one thing. Distract yourself._

She feels a different pain in her hand, and it takes her a few seconds to realize that she's clenching the silver bullet so tightly, it's burning a freezing fire into her palm, stinging and embedding itself into her skin.

_That'll work. _

A shared look much too old for a couple of sixteen-year-olds passes between the three of them. (They know they'll always have a scar on their hearts and the darkness in their minds, but that's okay with Allison. She already has so many open wounds she doesn't mind one more.)

It's Scott and Stiles she really worries about.

Stiles looks like he's mentally freaking out right now, but still moves with the deliberate precision of a person who has made their decision and by golly, he'll stick it out until the end.

It's one of the main values she admires of Stiles, actually, his bravery through terror.

Allison releases a shaky breath.

Scott looks bulldozer-level purposeful. She can't help but think that's how her dad used to appear (she feels a pang in her heart, _does, her dad _doe_s look that way_) when he's sighted his target and has two .45's centered between their eyes. Like _nothing _will stand in his way.

_Scott._

She's not sure what she admires about Scott.

Actually, she's not sure about anything with Scott, period.

She does know that she still feels…. _something _for him. Something a bit more than what's acceptable for a friend you greet in the hallway. Allison also knows that she wishes Scott could kiss her on the forehead (in a purely platonic way) and that she could tell him, "Oh, oh no, you get Isaac's Mexican food, I'll stay here and fight off the baddies." She wishes she could take all of the pain away and gain the world on her shoulders.

But no amount of lucky numbers and four-leaf clovers and wishes will change their situation.

_Positive. Rule number three of training. Stay positive. _

She tries to feel the bullet again, to give her strength and warmth.

She can't even feel her hands.

Does she even have hands anymore?

The terror rises up, vast and deep and hungry and twists her insides around.

_No._

_Argent women die with elegance and courage. _

The icy fingers are reaching for her throat.

_Nous chassons ceux qui nous chasser._

_We hunt those who hunt us. _

Allison is strong. She is powerful. She is a leader.

She is also a sixteen year old girl, the lady in question suddenly realizes in an onslaught of thoughts as Isaac's hands**—**_lucky bastard he can still use them_**—**appear above her.

_And sixteen-year-olds can have someone to lean on, right? Maybe…..I can be strong enough to protect, and still be an Argent, while having a friend to hold. _

She commands her eyes to stay open, and they do, right up until the the water crashes down and rushes past and takes everything.

_No__**—**__still be Allison. _

Allison Argent was born to lead.

But this time, she will follow others into the dark.

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AN: Ello everybody! So at first I wasn't sure as to whether I would go on, since Allison's POV would probably prove more of a challenge to flesh out.* But, after sitting around at my cousin's for two days, I decided, "Eh, why not?" I hope it wasn't too OOC for Allison, so please drop a review if you feel that way!

*It was.

PS: T-minus one day for the actual premiere for the finale of 3A! I don't know whether to be super excited or upset... :T


	3. Of Beasts, Grit, and Puzzles

Scott usually likes to think he's done it all, sort of a jack-of-all-trades for werewolves. Fight people way stronger than him? Check. Ride a cool bike? Check. Keep everyone from killing each other? Eh….most of the time. Crazy alphas? Zero out of ten, not done with that loco train. Have really awesome friends and mom? Check.

Okay, maybe not that last one.

Honestly, no matter how gung-ho and absolutely great his friends and family are, he sometimes wishes they could stay home and stay out of trouble. Maybe if they were less awesome they would've let him deal with his furry problem on his own, and not be in constant danger. Maybe they could even do something productive, like marathon Glee.

Or, you know, not die.

But it looks like he can't avoid that, either, so now they're even.

_Mom. You're doing this for mom. Someone worth dying for, someone who has cared for you since day one, one of the best people on this planet. Someone who might even do your cross-country laundry when you get home. _

Scott smirks for a nanosecond, momentarily distracted from his motivational persuasion.

_Yeah, right. _

He glances around, gulping in the view like a man starving in the desert. The boy memorizes every nook and cranny of the drab room, committing it all to memory. Every piece is important, every shadow essential to the final puzzle.

Every moment of life crucial before he goes under.

_Snap. _Stiles's eyebrows are drawn together by lines that seem to have permanently taken residence there the last couple of months. Allison has her head held high. Both have fear and determination warring in their eyes as they contemplate the jump**—**_they better come back they will come back I'm sorry I couldn't have protected you guys and Papa Stilinksi and Mr. Argent I'm so sorry for everything_**—**

_Snap. _The three tubs sit drifting in the middle of the space, the dreary light above casting them like a torture instrument.

_Snap. _Isaac, Lydia, and Deaton all look faintly sick, but determined to carry out their part for their friends' sakes.

_Snap. _The tin trap is getting closer, closer, and the watch in his hand is still ticking down every second

_Snap. _His muscles sigh and then scream when he lowers himself into the water

_Snap_ "By the way," Stiles's voice breaks him out of his reverie. "If I don't make it back and you do, you should probably know something. Your dad's in town."

Cue shock_. Another thing to deal with. _

Stiles quickly turned back around after sharing a serious look with Scott. He was obviously unwilling to see if his brother's mixture of shock would give way to hurt or anger, things that already seemed to follow them.

So Stiles didn't see when Scott gave a short nod, accepting his dad's presence as another weight to take on his shoulders. After all, what was one parent in comparison to a bunch of bloodthirsty, sterioded-out-the-wazoo werewolves?

"_A lot,"_ a voice whispers inside his head, the same one that's been beating him over and over again with his ineptitudes and shortcomings, _"and you know it."_

No. What he does know is that he trusts Deaton, this whole dying-in-place-shtick will work, he still hasn't finished his science project that's due next week, and his mom will slap him silly when she finds out that he hasn't been doing his laundry. That's what he knows, and that's what he's sticking to. The only way he can stay positive and not give in is to focus on one crisis at a time, and try to stick to his morals. Even if his values are getting him into so much more trouble than he would ever be in if he just _gave up_. Even if that in not killing his problems (literally) he's paving way for more strife.

Sometimes Scott wishes that he could just back out and move somewhere far, far, away, and never have to worry about anything ever again.

But Scott knows that if he ever buckles, and gives in to the bullies around him, he will only make other's situations worse. He will cause the people responsible to run rampant and unchecked and more innocents will suffer.

That's not what being Scott is about. Being Scott is holding people together and keeping shit from falling apart.

He is bound to this town and its people with both hands and feet. This is his duty, and he will complete it and do his best until he's six feet under.

Scott stares dead ahead, shivering, jaw clacking, dying, thinking of everyone else.

_It doesn't matter it doesn't matter you will stop Jennifer and get everyone back _he tries to convince himself when his healing body can no longer regenerate and the _thump thump thump _as his heart is spiking than falling asleep. _You will save they will live _his mind is screaming now, when he can longer feel his body except in stabs of pain.

_Snap._

Deaton's hands guide him under, and then all the urgency and determination Scott was feeling gently floats out of his body. Suddenly, everything is in shades of blue and grey and sluggish and when he finally sucks in a breath all that's there is

peace.

Scott McCall is dead.

The wolf inside him, however, isn't.

Oh, no. Not by a long shot.

The wolf inside him is smiling, teeth glinting like broken glass.

(_I am not dead)-_

Eyes the color of blood fly open, body seizing as if it was jolted by an electric shock.

_(I am not)-_

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AN: It's dooooooone! *rips hair out in exultation* I kinda crammed this one to publish it before tonight's episode, where clearly everything that I wrote here about Scott turning into an alpha so quickly will be wrong. However, I've always thought as Scott as the hero, the pragmatist, the one most likely to take in an injured villain and nurse him/her back to health with love and sunshine. Therefore, I wanted to try and convey this through the chapter. But, again, if anyone feels anything about Scott's time to shine (Love! Hate! The overwhelming desire to eat a burrito!) drop a review and let me know.


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